


The Way it Was

by ironicHeadtilt



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 80s gay, 90s business AU, 90s gay, Drag Queens, Han and Luke being former drag queens, Han and Luke being gay business people in the 90's, Internalized Homophobia, Luke has anxiety, M/M, Past Luke/Wedge, Past Relationship(s), To An Extent, reference to homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicHeadtilt/pseuds/ironicHeadtilt
Summary: The 90's were a weird time to be gay. Especially if you were trying to fit into a straight persona at a proverbial corrupt corporation. Even more so if that corporation was owned by your twin sister.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work isn't finished, but I'm posting everything I have right now and getting back to it later maybe. If you want to see more, subscribe to the work.

Luke was on his bed, his silhouette cutting the light slating in through tilted shades on the covers. Bright pink eyeshadow had been smattered on his eyelids - and his temples, part of his forehead - with a fluffy blending brush so that there was thick gradient and messy fallout caught on the apple if his cheekbone. Mascara clumped on his eyelashes, flecked black everywhere. His lips were painted maroon, his lip line blurred by its smudged edges.

“I could stay, if you want,” the other man said. Luke stared forward.

“Don’t act like you did me some favor.”

The other man pursed his lips, his contour slanting. He turned his head to the door.

“Honey,” he sniffed, licking his lips. His lipstick still looked as fresh as it had the night before. Not for lack of activity, Luke sarcastically thought. “Drop the attitude.”

He left. Luke sighed, falling back.

\--

Luke walked the same concrete path to the  same corporate building dressed in the same beige raincoat and grey suit with black tie every weekday for twelve years. His parking spot was a long ways off of his work building: in the basement of a crowded parking complex. The dark dank dimness greeted him first, gave way to a sidewalk that was shaded by the overhang of the building. Cigarette butts were overflowing from the ashtray; litter blew by like tumbleweeds; mysterious puddles gathered in worn spots near cracks.

Luke scuttled to the door to the main building, sliding his card into the reader and yanking the handle to no avail until he remembered, as he forgot most mornings, that it was a push door. He pushed it open, ducking his head into the dull stairway. The landing held some browning leafy plant and a maroon plastic chair.

Luke trudged up the stairs, his hands in his pockets. The window on the next landing looked out onto the gravelly roof of the accounting department; beyond that was the slick street of Frederick Avenue and the squat business that faced them from the other side of the street.

One more landing up and Luke inserted his card again, pushed than pulled the door open. He was greeted by neck high cubicles and patterned carpet. The receptionist, on the phone, smiled toothily at him while she talked. The elevator opened to the right of him.

“I'm not having this conversation right now,” a man in a yellow button-up walked out, tapping his finger on the receptionist’s desk thrice before walking around the corner to his office.

Luke shuffled over to his cubicle. The cubicles to the immediate right and left of his cycled through occupants like hotel rooms. Right now they were in their vacant stage, which was both a gift and a blessing.

Manila folders of white papers were stacked in a plastic tray on the corner of his desk. The papers were mostly useless legal jargon and red tape that only existed within the inner workings of the company, not any known municipal government. In fact, Luke’s main job consisted mostly of filling out request forms for office supplies. He didn't actually have the request forms with him, though. He had to request the request forms from accounting. He then filled them out and sent them to management to be processed. Then the request forms would be sent from management to the actual supplier to get the supplies.

Luke booted up his computer, scanned the graph, idly writing the numbers on a notepad for no particular reason other than he had not much else to do. He was comforted by the fact that if the company ever wizened up and downsized, he'd be the first to be let go.

“Mr. Skywalker?” A young woman, barely legal, was standing at the opening of his cubicle. Luke turned his swivel chair around to face her. He knew her name but couldn't remember it. “Can I borrow your hole-punch? Mine isn't big enough.”

Luke nodded, kicking open the drawer that held it. She grinned, obviously proud of her tight white button up and her sleek fitted slacks, as she bent over to pick it up. She looked up at him.

His phone rang. He picked it up with a sigh.

“Hello?”

“Luke, did you get my emails?” Asked the person on the other end. The hole-punch woman was sauntering away. Luke turned towards his desk, scrubbing his eyes with his hands, the phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder.

“No?” He replied.

“I'm throwing a party this Friday.”

“That's great, Leia.” Luke sighed, gripping the phone with one hand and typing on the keyboard with the other.

“You're coming.”

“Please, no.”

“Luke-” Leia began sternly. Luke cut her off.

“I'm really not… I really don't feel like celebrating, okay?”

“The party’s for both of us, though. And it'd look strange if I threw a birthday party and my twin wasn't there.” Luke was imagining Leia, in her office surrounded by windows and books and statistical charts, probably wearing something with a strategic pop of color. “I asked for a guest list from you weeks ago, but you don't seem to want to respond to my emails.”

“I don't check my email, Leia. Don't take it personally.” Luke said as he checked his email.

“I should've called you sooner. You can still invite people. Invite your friends. Invite a date.” Leia’s voice softened slightly. Luke definitely wasn't admitting he couldn't think of anyone he actually wanted to invite. “Please, Luke. It depresses me that we don't spend any time together.”

“You're busy. I understand that, Leia. I still don't want to go.”

“You can just pop by, then. Shake a few hands, drink some punch, then leave.”

Luke sighed, pulling the phone away from his face to grumble, knowing damn well that this was a fleeting sentimentality on both their parts.

“Fine,” Luke said. “Whatever. There better be alcohol in that punch.”

“We can get drunk afterward.” Leia said and hung up.

Luke dropped the receiver into its cradle, leaning back in his chair and immediately regretting saying yes.

They were turning thirty. Luke wasn't thrilled. His twenties had snuck by. He’d lost them somewhere.

Thirty was the plain Jane, Joe-schmo years. Twenty was young, unafraid and forgivable; forty was mature, wise, and experienced. Thirty was the fumbling waiting period between attractive go-getter and successful adult. Thirty was the age you dedicate your whole life to either career or baby-making or both so that by forty you were set to make it to sixty and beyond. Luke didn't have the prospect of either promotion or engagement and it definitely didn't look like that was going to change anytime soon, if ever.

“Mr. Skywalker,” The woman walked back into his cubicle, putting the hole-punch back into its drawer. She exited in the same dramatic fashion.

“Mr. Skywalker,” Luke mumbled to himself, staring at the hyperlinks on the monitor in front of him.

One of the emails was from Wedge, detailing the “new and improved” request forms. Wedge seemed pretty proud of himself for the restructured design, and wondered if Luke wanted to stop by to talk about office supplies request forms. Luke knew better than to accept the invitation. He shot him an email declining 

He looked at the time and pulled up Minesweeper.

\--

Hangers of mismatched clothing lined the walls where there weren't mirrors in the windowless private dressing room. Luke didn't know anything about the kind of shop Leia had brought him to, only that it'd been recommended to her some years ago and it was the only place she went for “special occasion outfits.” He felt, irrationally, that everyone else in the building was in cahoots, the way they all seemed to understand something he wished he could with such confidence. They were bold and dramatic and Luke was just sinking slowly into a couch, waiting.

“Luke?” Leia returned his attention to the task at hand.

“Hm? Oh, I don't know,” Luke said, sitting on the thin couch with too many throw pillows on it. 

“Well, which did you like better?” Leia asked, standing squarely in front of the trifold mirror.

“I don't know anything about… clothing, Leia.”

“Luke, which one did you like better?” Leia had turned, crossed her arms across her chest.

“The blue, I guess. It was more mature.”

“If you think the blue looked better, I'll trust your judgement,” Leia said, walking back into the changing room.

“Yeah, sure,” Luke responded. He shifted uncomfortably, pulling a weirdly shaped pillow out from underneath him and adding it to the teetering pile to his left. “I just can't believe you didn't already have an outfit picked out by now.”

“I always leave it for last,” Leia said from the other side of the dressing room door. “I'm no good with clothing, honestly.”

“Well, good thing you can afford the expensive stuff,” Luke joked. Leia rolled her eyes as she came out of the dressing room with the blue dress in arm.

“Do you have something to wear Friday?” Leia asked. Luke shrugged, held up his arms to show her his current suit, the one he'd worn to work that day. “Do you wanna get something while we're here?”

“Oh, no. I can't afford this stuff.”

“It's my treat. Like a little birthday present.” Leia said, shaking out her hair in the mirror. She turned and grinned.

-

The sales associate knocked on the door and came in with a light coral dress shirt with mother of pearl buttons, a textured off-white tie, a navy blue, pin-stripe Italian-cut slim fit suit, umber patent leather loafers with a matching skinny embossed patent leather belt. Luke smoothed the thin material of the shirt against his slender figure, tucked neatly into the sturdy material of his pants. The sales associate helped him into his coat, and he tucked the pocket square into his breast pocket. Luke adjusted his sleeves in the mirror before walking out of the large dressing room to a waiting Leia and the trifold mirror.

“Jesus, Luke. You look like a grade-A douche bag.” Leia said, smiling and standing up next to him in the mirror. The sales associate huffed quietly.

“Is it too much? It's too much,” Luke said, falling in love with himself in the mirror.

“No, no. No such thing.” Leia said, putting her hands on his shoulders. “You really look great.”

“I don't know about this, Leia. It's kinda expensive and it doesn't match the rest of my wardrobe,” Luke said, tucking his hands in his pockets and turning at different angles. 

“Money isn't a problem.” Leia waved it away. “I'm leaving this up to you. If you don't want the clothes, that's fine. But make a decision quick, because I got to get going.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze before walking out of the changing area.

Luke appraised himself again, running a hand through his boyish haircut. He hesitated to admit it, but he looked like a sophisticated adult. He looked thirty, all of a sudden, which was the opposite of what he thought was going to happen. It was the first time something that made him look his age didn't also make him soul-crushingly depressed.

“What do you think?” Luke asked the sales associates. The man, who appeared to be middle-age and very stylishly dressed, had been leaning on the wall, his fingers steepled.

“Well, I don't think you look like a douche bag,” he said. “Of course, I put the whole ensemble together, so obviously I love it.”

“But… On me?” Luke turned away from the mirror, looked the sales associate in the face. The man’s groomed eyebrows raised.

“I don't know you, hun. If you're worried it looks misplaced, it doesn't. If you feel like you can't pull it off… That's on you.” He said, lifting a hand and leaving the room.

Luke looked himself over one more time and made up his mind. He'd just wear it to the most important occasions. Like the birthday party. He struggled to name literally a single other important occasion.

The whole ensemble cost more than a year of Luke’s rent.

\---

Luke was playing solitaire on his computer when his boss came by. His boss, an old man named Ben, always pretended to knock on the open air while he made clicking sounds with his mouth so it was like he was knocking on a door. It never failed to make old Ben giggle before he intruded on a cubicle. He did so now, leaning gingerly on the thin wall as he chuckled.

“Hey, sport, I hear you're turning the big three oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.” Ben nodded. A weird pause. “That's how many years working with us?” 

“Twelve.” Luke plainly responded. 

“Wow, really? It sure doesn't feel that long,”

Ben laughed. There was another awkward pause.

“How long have you been working here?” Luke asked.

“You know, I'm working on my 40th year here. Yup, been at the grind for 40 years.”

“That's awful, Ben,” Luke said, real concern in his voice. “40 years in this dump."

“It flies by, Luke. It really does.” Ben said, trying to make it sound less horrible. Luke thought it made it sound worse. “But, hey, it's just a job. I show up, I get my paycheck, I save up. I go on vacation.”

“By yourself?” Luke asked.

“Anyway,” Ben cleared his throat, “me and some of the others brought cake. It's in the conference room. We didn't know what flavor you liked best, so we got swirl. Feel free to take a slice.”

Ben made a quick exit. The hole-punch girl, who Luke remembered was named Georgina, followed closely, walking into Luke’s cubicle as Ben walked out. She was watching Ben go, ignoring Luke as he awkwardly waited.

“Do you need something?” Luke finally ventured.

“No, sorry, excuse me,” she said sheepishly and was off, trailing Ben.

Luke exhaled at length, before grabbing his trench coat and getting up. He exited his cubicle and last second decided to take the elevator instead of the steps down to the ground floor.

Luke, alone and gathered tightly in the corner, didn't take the elevator much, but every once in awhile he would and he would always regret it. As soon as the doors slid shut, medium volume elevator music whistled cheerily around him, unaware of its slavish burden of performing endlessly to the clinically depressed masses. It was too cheery, like merry-go-round music playing at a funeral. He supposed some psychologist somewhere thought upbeat music might help the frame of mind of workers trapped in well-worn ruts. He supposed that person had never experienced the same repetitive bouncy midi every morning when the only thoughts running through his mind were either homicidal or suicidal. He supposed that person had never had a nervous break down between floors while wordless upbeat song reminded him he needed to get himself together before he reached his floor because his problems were his alone and no one else wanted to deal with them. He supposed he probably shouldn't have taken the elevator.

Anyway, melodrama survived, Luke got to the bottom floor, which opened to a hot, stale lobby; a sweat immediately sprung up on his body. This lobby wasn't the lobby to the front door, mind you. This was the lobby the basement workers used. It was hot because it was covered on all sides with hot water pipes. Luke had no idea why they were there, but he did know that there was a door that lead to the back of the building at the far end of this lobby that none of his coworkers ever used. God forbid he be any semblance of social with any of them.

The alley out back was windy, and it chilled Luke’s moistened skin. Luke huddled against the grey painted brick wall, untucking a cigarette pack from his coat pocket along with a metal lighter. The lighter had “AS” engraved on it in fancy letters because it had previously belonged to his much more successful father, who was now passed; God rest his soul. It was all live fast, die young for CEO Skywalker. Luke and Leia were orphans now.

Luke lit his cigarette, stuck the filter between his lips and sucked. He’d been on the patch a couple of times, had even stopped smoking for awhile. He'd picked it back up recently.

He turned and leaned his back against the wall, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the wind.

The back of the building abutted a man-made “lake,” the only thing separating Luke and the water being a rusted chain link fence. The lake smelled like an old, water-logged basement, rotting and molding. It'd also resisted any effort of renovation and was currently owned by the owner of the squat warehouse that existed across the dead water. Luke didn't know much about the warehouse, but it was abandoned most days, so he didn't understand why the company he worked for didn't just buy it up. Or why the government allowed it to stay in its condition.

The law demanded only that the lake be cut off from the nearby river, and thank God it was because locals would dump their trash in the former, thinking someone else would pick it up. No one did. Luke shivered to think about the garbage currently festering on the concrete bottom in the center of the lake.

Luke put his cigarette out on the brick wall, trying to decide if it was better to die of the cold outside or die of heat stroke inside. He'd have to take the elevator again. He groaned, unhappily looking down the back of the building to the right of him.

A door flung open down the line some twenty feet away. A man emerged in a fitted business suit, kicking the ground and cussing. He kicked his way to the fence and then kicked the fence. He didn't do any really damage but he did make a lot of noise. Luke awkwardly watched the man as he wore himself out, his fingers gripping the links of the fence as he leaned forward against it, sides heaving.

The man stayed there for a minute, quieting himself, before standing to his full height, agitatedly brushing himself off, and lazily pulling a cigarette out. Luke didn't know what to do, afraid to go inside because the man might see him. So he just sat there and looked at him.

The man had reddish mid length hair which had been heavily slicked back with some shiny product. He was taller than Luke and way more fashionable; he must've been way higher up on the corporate ladder than Luke.

Luke had been looking at the man’s clothing - his body, essentially - when he realized the man had seen him looking. He locked surprised eyes with the man’s horrified ones. Luke felt himself go pale, his skin becoming clammy as he realized his catastrophic social faux pas. The man dropped his cigarette, put it out with the toe of his loafer, and quickly walked back inside through the door from once he came, his face visibly red from chin to ear tip.

The ringing of the slammed door encouraged Luke back into the building. He didn't notice the elevator ride back to his floor. He smelled like cigarettes when he got back to his desk.

\-----------

Leia had convinced Luke to promise to come and stay for the whole party.

Luke stood in front of the full length mirror of his apartment bedroom in his work clothes. He had to be at Leia’s in less than an hour. No, actually, Luke rationalized, if he showed up with the rest of the guests, he could push his arrival time to in about an hour and a half. Isn't it fashionable, he further reasoned, to be tastefully late? He could probably show up fifteen… maybe thirty minutes later than that; that wouldn't be too big of a deal. So if it was 5:15 now, and he was showing up in three hours, he'd only have to be at the party for… half an hour? The math didn't seem right somehow.

He'd laid out his outfit on the bed behind him. It looked really out of place on top of his frumpy quilt. It looked out of place in his apartment in general. He seriously wanted to put it on his body just so he could feel out of place in his unfashionable home for once.

He checked the clock again. Ten minutes had already slid by.

Luke flung himself onto his bed, next to his suit, looked over at it like it was a wilted lover. Convenient that he'd turn thirty on a Friday. Convenient that he'd been bribed with an outfit. Leia was going to be upset if he didn't show up on time, and then he'd feel guilty about it. He just had to get ready, one step at a time. Shower, style, go. He'd perform for one night, because he loved Leia and he was thirty now.

As he walked into his small bathroom, he let his mind wonder to what he'd be doing after the party. He'd come home as quickly as possible (Leia would want him to stay for some expensive wine but he'd decline), get into some old comfy pajamas (The ones he'd had since high school), put on a movie (Back to the Future II), and lie in his bed for no less than three days (the entire weekend) as an award for being so sociable.

He could almost taste the boxed wine and plain tortilla chips.

\-------

Leia’s spacious pent house was crowded from entrance to kitchen to living room to outdoor patio. It wasn't a “party” as much as it was a “social gathering.” There weren't servants walking around with hors d’oeuvres or champagne glasses, but if there had been, they wouldn't have looked too out of place.

Luke was thankful Leia had bought him his outfit. He no longer felt like he dazzled in it; it more kept his head above water in the sea of well-formed, stylish dresswear. He had absolutely no one to talk to and he’d already been introduced to everyone Leia wanted to introduce him to. He didn't remember more than a few names. He’d tried lurking at Leia's shoulder, but she seemed intent on forcing him to talk if he did, so he was politely steering clear and sipping the raspberry infused ginger ale at the farthest end of the patio, beyond the main flood lights, where the string lights were the source of light.

Luke could see most of the downtown from where he stood; it's squat brick buildings, city hall, printing firm, other towering apartment buildings, their windows yellow dots on the horizon. Downtown was made up of mostly old buildings; all old besides the one Luke currently stood on. He was among the stylish gods on modern mount Olympus, peering indifferently down on the less fortunate. He couldn't understand how Leia could stand it. Even if she did deserve it, even if she worked long hours and sacrificed so much to own it; how could she live above everyone else?

Luke turned his back on it, leaning against the railing and daring it to give out.

He caught someone sneaking by the groups out of the corner of his eye. He tracked him for a second. He was obviously looking for someone in particular as he studied various groups, two drinks in his hands. Luke almost started ignoring him, then realized it was the same man who'd been out back the other day. The same man Luke had embarrassed himself in front of. Luke turned so he wasn't facing the crowd anymore.

“Hey, want a drink?” The man was suddenly at his side, a little too close, offering one of his glasses.

“Uh,” Luke froze, his empty glass betraying him.

“Han, you weren't invited,” Leia had slid quickly and inconspicuously onto the scene, glaring daggers.

“No, I was. Luke here invited me. Right, Luke?”

“UH,” Luke stammered.

“Luke, you know him?” Leia asked, shocked. Luke looked at her then looked at Han, who was silently pleading with his eyes.

“I know him,” Luke lied, looking at Han sternly, “I invited him.”

When Luke looked back at Leia, she appeared the closest Luke had ever seen her to awkward. Luke regretted his actions.

“Oh,” she said, “I'm sorry. That was… I'm sorry.”

And she stalked off, shaking her head. Han was smirking. Luke gripped Han’s lapel as casually and firmly as he could, forcefully drawing his attention.

“Explain what I just did to upset my sister. How do you know my name?” Luke said in a low voice. Han seemed somewhat surprised but not as much as Luke hoped he would.

“I didn't think you'd actually play along,” Han laughed, still trying to hand Luke his extra drink. Luke gripped the lapel harder. “Geez, calm down. I work with Leia.”

“So why weren't you invited?”

“This is schmooze city, and she doesn't want me schmoozing,” Han said simply. “I'm Han Solo, by the way.”

“I caught that,” Luke murmured, taking the extra glass off Han. “Well, I'm not stopping you; go schmooze.”

Han was facing the crowd, chewing on a lip. He shook his head.

“Leia must’ve figured I’d try to crash. There are too many unfriendlies on the field to do any good.”

“Jesus fuck,” Luke chuckled, “Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

Han turned to Luke, expression suddenly dark and serious. Han slid closer to Luke; Han’s back was to the downtown and Luke’s to the patio. Han leaned over so he was almost eye to eye with Luke.

“Do you know how I got this far in my career? Not by riding the coattails of dear old daddy.” Han searched Luke's face with half lidded eyes.

“Leia didn't just-” Han leaned in closer, tilting his head so his nose was adjacent to Luke’s. Luke’s breathing hitched, his lips parted.

“What do you want?” Han whispered, then moved away to a more socially acceptable position.  He looked gloomy, deflated, staring into the sea of people. Luke felt sorry he'd made fun of him.

“What do you do?” Luke asked.

“What?” Han asked, confused, glancing at Luke with brow furrowed.

“For work. What's your, uh, career?” Luke asked. Han hesitated.

“I'm a contractor. I, you know, get clients for the company and act as the go between from the developers and the… yeah.”

Luke nodded. “How long have you been doing it?”

Han unexpectedly laughed, his eyes crinkling. He turned towards Downtown so his face was in shadow.

“I'm not even going to tell you. Too long.” Han said. “I have a BA in Communications, you know? I didn't even think I'd have this job.”

“What job did you want to have?”

“Enough- with the 20 questions, kid.” Han looked over at Luke, “What job did YOU really want to have?”

“Me?” Luke asked, incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I- I'm not very good at… the one I have, I guess.” Luke said, “But I like it. I like my job.”

Han raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I hate my job,” Luke admitted. “But I don't have an alternative, really. I have no idea what I want to do.”

“What's your degree in?”

“I don't have one.”

Han whistled.

“Yeah, I know.” Luke and Han sat in silence for a moment.

“At least you don't have student loans,” Han finally said. Luke chuckled.

“That's true.”

“I mean, you must have a lot of extra money.”

“Er, no. I wouldn't go that far.” Luke said. There was another pause.

“What’re you doing after this?” Han asked, looking down at Luke. Luke made a face. Han noticed it. “What?” Han had turned to face the crowd, expression becoming distant, “Look, I should probably leave, but,” Han put his hand on Luke’s forearm, “I'd like to keep talking.”

Luke looked down at Han's hand, then raised his eyebrows, looking up at Han through his eyelashes. Han quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head, winked.

“I have to stay,” Luke said, “It's my birthday party.”

“You think this is a birthday party?” Han asked. Luke opened his mouth to respond, but Han had already pushed away from the railing and started pressing through the crowd.

Luke frowned, feeling regret.

\------

Luke had walked into his apartment, dropped his jacket and gifted bottle of wine onto his musty couch, dragged his feet into his bedroom, plopped onto his bed, and faced the ceiling with his legs dangling off the side. It was quiet, save the muted sound of rushing water, signaling someone else in the complex was taking a shower.

A dread had been building in Luke since Han had left. It had started as a mild discomfort and had grown into a general ache. By the time the night was over and Leia was inviting him to stay, he was a jittery mess. He wanted to go home. Leia was understanding, let him go, but she had a curious look in her eye, an obvious question, that Luke wasn't going to be able to answer. He didn't like the look she had. She looked more like business Leia and not like sister Leia.

Laying on the bed, he suddenly didn't want to do any of the things he'd set out to do before the party. He didn't want to take his outfit off, he didn't want to wash the copious amounts of product out of his hair, he didn't want to watch a movie, he didn't want to get dru- He lifted his head and looked down the narrow hall to his lumpy couch. Maybe he did want to get drunk, but he really didn't want to get up. He rested his head back on the bed and closed his eyes. He wouldn't want to get drunk off of the good stuff anyway.

Not when he had cinnamon schnapps in his liquor cabinet. It was called Hot Damn and it barely tasted like alcohol while still having the 100 proof content. He felt like that had also been a gift some birthdays ago, but he couldn't remember who’d given it to him.

He debated the pros and cons of getting drunk, decided against getting drunk, let his mind wander for all of two seconds, then decided it was a necessity to get just drunk enough to at least fall asleep relaxed.

He slid off the bed and shuffled to his kitchen. The liquor cabinet was above the sink. He had to stand on the pads of his feet to reach. He grabbed a shot glass he'd been using for decoration, cleaned out the dust in the sink, set the bottle of schnapps and the shot glass on the small dining table, and sat down on the creaky wooden chair.

He tossed back two shots and felt ridiculous. It always felt ridiculous to drink alone. He didn't exactly know his limits on this shit either. He eyed the telephone.

-

“Okay, listen, listen,” Luke was laying on his side on the floor with the phone laying on his cheek so he didn't have to hold it up. The long ass curly cord was laying across his face. “I didn't want to tell you this to your face because you're gonna get mad at me, but I had a horrible, oh God, just a horrible time at your party.”

Leia was laughing. She’d started drinking, too.

“I don't think I've ever been to a birthday party with more assholes in my entire fucking life, Leia. I just- I just don't know how you do it. I just don't know how.”

“Yep,” Leia said through her laughter. “You see what I put up with?”

“I see it. I see the struggle, sister,” Luke slurred, placing his hand on the ground for balance. “I don't even remember their names. Who was the one with the, uhm, the uh, hair plugs? The one with the blond hair plugs; now that's a real man. That's a genuine man.”

“I have no idea who you're talking about,” Leia snorted.

“What? Are you serious?”

“What was his name?” Leia asked.

“I don't even remember.” Luke waved the whole thing away. “And then there was that douchebag, Han Solo. He was like, 'This isn't a birthday party.’ Then what is it, asshole?”

“Well, you're the one who invited him,” Leia said kinda quietly. Luke’s clouded mind flared with warning signals that he was saying something he shouldn't. He hesitated.

“I did. I invited him. Yeah. I was smoking a cigarette and Han-”

“Wait, you're smoking again?”

“What? No, I was just- I was where I usually went to smoke, back when I smoked, to get some fresh air and Han was smoking-” Luke stopped because he lost track of his thoughts for a second. “And I invited him.”

“He must've been pretty charming to get you to invite him,” Leia teased, but her voice had an edge.

“He wasn't that charming...”

“Then why’d you invite him?” Leia asked. Luke, laying on the floor with the phone on his face, went silent, felt the room tilt weirdly around him.

“I don't know. I don't know.” Luke whispered. How many more shots had he had since the first two? It might've been three. Or four? “I want to see him again.”

“Luke,” Leia sighed, and heaved a sigh into the receiver. There was another long pause as Luke felt like a chided little boy, fingers tracing the patterns of his nasty decades old kitchen tile. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.” Luke responded. There was another pause.

“I think I want to go to sleep,” Leia said, “I'll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, ok. Good night.” Luke said. Leia hung up.

Luke took the phone off his ear and tossed it across the floor. The cord caught it, sprung it back in his general direction. It wasn't hung up. Luke ignored that.

He needed to get to his bed somehow. Or maybe the bathtub. He hadn’t been this drunk in a while.

He army crawled to his bedroom and pulled himself into his bed. He was still in his suit.

\-------

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing at a place like this?” the man asked, eyes piercing under a nest of curly hair. Neon lights cut through the dark; flecks of laser light danced off the man’s cheeks. The pulse of music was just low enough at the bar for conversation. Luke stirred his drink with the little umbrella, grinning coyly at the new suitor.

“Don't you know I come here often?” Luke replied, amused by the cheesy pick-up line, crossing his legs on the bar stool.

“You come here with your boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend,” Luke said, taking a long drink of his vibrantly colored beverage. The suitor wet his lips.

“The name’s Wedge,” he said, “I'm new in town.”

“I’m Luke. Where you from?”

“The middle of nowhere.” Wedge grinned,  sitting down at the barstool next to Luke.

“You ever been to a place like this?” Luke asked. Wedge ordered two fingers of whiskey.

“Hell no, are you kidding?” Wedge laughed nervously. “No place like this in the middle of nowhere, USA.”

The bartender and Luke shared a look.

“You wanna dance?” Luke asked, throwing back the rest of his drink. Wedge’s face went red.

“Yes.”

-

“Is this okay?” Luke asked, straddling Wedge’s lap, his fingers carefully undoing Wedge’s belt. Wedge nodded, cupping Luke’s face and pulling him into a desperate kiss. Luke tried to kiss instead of laugh and mostly succeeded as he struggled to get the front of Wedge’s pants open. Luke pulled away, burying his face into Wedge’s shoulder. “Let me get your pants off first.”

Both Wedge’s and Luke’s shirts were discarded somewhere on the floor of the motel room. Wedge ran a hand up Luke’s ribs, over his chest, his thumb swiping across Luke’s tight nipple. Luke’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of Wedge's boxers through his open fly. Lifting his forehead from Wedge's shoulder to look him in the eye, Luke palmed Wedge's erection, gauging the sensory overload apparent in Wedge's expression. Wedge was unable to keep eye contact, biting his lip as he grinded into Luke’s grasp.

“Damn,” Luke said in a low voice. “You're not gonna last.”

Wedge laughed the same nervous laugh as the one at the bar. Luke liked it when shit like that happened. He took his hand away from the front of Wedge's jeans, getting up to pull the jeans off. He was glad he'd had Wedge take his shoes off beforehand.

Wedge looked young and vulnerable lying there in just his boxers, his dick an insistent line against the thin material. Luke, standing over the bed in his mid rise blue jeans and white studded belt, hooked a thumb under Wedge's elastic waistband, freeing his cock with a deliberate motion. Wedge sighed, his hands fisting the sheets.

Luke was afraid to do too much. Wedge didn't have the stamina most of the other men at the club generally had.

“What do you want me to do, Wedge?” Luke asked, his thumbs lining themselves with Wedge’s hip bones on either side of his dick. Wedge breathed out through his nose, wetting his chapped lips again.

“Take yours off,” Wedge murmured, looking up at Luke with dark eyes.

Luke quickly undid his own clasps, and pushed his tight jeans to the floor in one leaning movement. His boxer-briefs were tight against his arousal, and Wedge held out his arms as invitation to climb on top of him. Luke took it, grinding his hips against Wedge's as he licked the edge of Wedge's lip. Wedge’s lips parted with a moan, his hands grabbing Luke's ass, yanking him closer and lining them up to create better friction.

“Oh, fuck,” Wedge gasped. Luke cradled his head, his painted fingernails disappearing into Wedge’s curls.

“Slow down,” Luke instructed, his voice slightly strained. Wedge complied, his skin slick with sweat.

Luke hadn't frantically rutted against a guy since the beginning of his Catholic high school days. Wedge reminded him of a lot of his classmates. Nervous, inexperienced, desperate.

Luke leaned back, his fingers still tangled in Wedge's hair, bucking his hips in small, rhythmic thrusts. Wedge had closed his eyes, his breath passing through parted lips, his face a blotchy, ruddy complexion.

“Luke- Luke-” Wedge grasped helplessly at Luke’s back, his dull fingernails leaving white tracks, arching his back as he came onto Luke’s underwear. Luke kept his pace until Wedge had ridden through his orgasm, Luke’s fingers digging into the skin at the nape of Wedge's neck.

Luke sat back on Wedge's thighs, still hard.Wedge looked up at him, his hands on Luke’s lap. Wedge was obviously trying to figure out what to do next, his hands fidgeting. Luke gently pushed them away and pulled his own dick from his underwear, stroking it slowly. Wedge watched him dreamily. Luke rocked his hips, fisting his cock with one hand, the other pressed against Wedge's leg for balance.

“I love you,” Wedge whispered, his brow furrowed. Luke caught Wedge's eyes for only a second before averting his gaze to the ceiling, quickening his pace and pushing himself over the edge.

Luke came onto Wedge’s stomach with a moan.

\------

Luke woke up Saturday to his phone ringing. He rolled over and painfully opened his eyes to look at the clock. It was 2 in the afternoon. He couldn't remember getting into bed. He'd fucked up. He'd really fucked up. He groaned, pressing his eyelids with his fingers. His mouth was cotton dry and tasted bad and his head was pounding. He felt like he'd been physically assaulted. His answering machine picked up the call. The only thing it recorded was the sound of a phone hanging up.

Luke laid motionless for probably 45 minutes, trying to scrape together the courage to crawl to the kitchen and get the ibuprofen and a glass of orange juice. He rolled onto his back and wanted to die immediately. He tried to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers were clumsy and he didn't want to ruin the shirt. He kicked off his pants so he was in just his boxers, socks, and button-up.

He got out of bed, thanking God for once that his windows didn’t let in a lot of light. He stumbled down the hall, using the wall for support, feeling a sudden wave of nausea. Luke stopped, squeezing his eyes shut and focussing on not ruining his carpet.

When he finally got to the kitchen, he noticed the phone on the counter next to the phonebook and the answering machine alerting him of missed calls. His mind registered the red light of the number, but not the number of messages displayed.Luke ignored it and softly opened the medicine cabinet.

He slid to the floor after getting the ibuprofen and the half drank jug of orange juice. He popped the pills into his mouth and chugged the OJ before curling up and groaning.

Drinking that OJ was apparently the last fucking straw for his abused body. Luke jumped gracelessly to his feet and bent over the sink, throwing up the ibuprofen and juice he'd just swallowed.

“What the fuuuuck,” Luke complained. He hadn't even gotten an enjoyable night out of this bullshit. He'd literally gotten black out drunk alone in his apartment, on the phone with his sister. He felt pathetic. This was the second day of being 30 and this is how he started the decade? He took it as a bad omen.

He fell back to the floor, amazed that he’d even survived for this long. He was lucky his body hadn't just given out under the constant stress and self-inflicted abuse.

His old musty couch called for his hungover ass. He scooted his way over to the carpeted living room, which wasn't really a room but more an area, and pushed his water-ringed coffee table out of his way before venturing searchingly up onto the couch, burying his face into the well-worn back cushions and dragging the knitted blanket off the top of the couch and pulling it over his body. It smelled vaguely like cigarettes.

Luke had lived at the same address for over a decade, and had the couch for just as long. It was a Good Will find, meaning there was a whole history to it that was a complete mystery to Luke. He hadn't concerned himself about it then and definitely didn't now that there really wasn't anything that could've happened on it before his ownership that hadn't already happened on it now. Luke nuzzled further into it like an old friend, his emotions for this piece of furniture the simplest part of his day so far.

He must’ve drifted back to sleep, because he woke up to the phone ringing again. He didn't move, just wrapped his blanket around himself tighter. The answering machine picked up.

“Uhm, hello? Who’s this? I've been calling all day. I don't appreciate you calling my girlfriend at fucking three in the morning, asshole. Who is this?” A man’s voice came crackling.

“Babe, please. It was the wrong number.” A feminine voice could be heard distantly.

“You said that last time! I'm sick of this coward not picking up!”

“Babe, hang up the phone, you're being ridiculous.”

That was the end of the message. Luke couldn't have been more confused if he hadn't also been fighting a nasty headache. He realized he hadn't actually taken the ibuprofen, that it'd come right back up.

He grumbled his way to his feet, holding the blanket onto his shoulders. He walked over to the where the phone and answering machine was, massaging his temples. He pressed the button to playback his messages, glancing over at the open phone book. His eyes scanned lazily over the page. He stopped cold. The first message began playing.

“Hi, I think you had the wrong number. I don't know a Luke Skywalker. Sorry.” An unfamiliar man’s voice said. End message.

“Hey, yeah, wrong number. Had to look you up in the phonebook to try to decipher your call back number, haha. Good luck trying to find your guy!” Another unfamiliar voice said. End message.

“Hey, this is Han Solo getting back to you,” This wasn't the Han Solo Luke knew, though. This sounded like a very old man. “Did we go to school together or something? I'm not sure I recognize the name Skywalker. Give me a call back at-”

Luke stopped the messages and momentarily forgot his hangover. He had called all the listed numbers in the phone book for Han Solo in his area, last night, while he was drunk. He gripped the counter, trying not to literally lose his actual fucking mind. He'd gone right down the list, just fucking crossed out names that he'd called. In fact, all Han Solos in the phonebook were crossed out. Luke couldn't remember if any of them picked up. Luke had apparently left messages, though, so that's comforting.

He had no way of knowing which number was the real Han Solo, or if the real Han Solo was even in the phone book, unless Han himself called him back.

Luke glared at the playback button, knowing there were still messages he needed to listen to. Han might've already called him back, might've already left a message. Luke’s headache became no longer ignorable.

He needed to take ibuprofen, drink some water, and face this like a man. He was thirty years old. He was gonna have to start owning up to drunken calls now. That was the responsible thing to do, dammit.

Luke slumped back to his couch and threw himself a pity party instead, again forgetting he really needed the ibuprofen either way. He was very hungry, very thirsty, had to piss, and it was all hitting him at once. Lying there he realized he was probably going to die right then if he didn't at least get his shit together enough to clean himself up. He could ignore the terrible looming problem in the kitchen and focus on becoming human again.

The bathroom seemed a million miles away.

\-------

Luke listened to the rest of the cringe-worthy messages with wet hair as the coffee he made went cold on the kitchen counter. The guy who thought his girlfriend was cheating made up a lot of them. Leia was one because, apparently, he'd called her back, too. She was concerned. Luke didn't blame her.

There were a couple messages which were just the sound of a phone hanging up. Luke wanted to put two and two together and call that his man, which would mean Han didn't even know what to say to him. Luke sighed at length, having again embarrassed himself instead of waiting for any sort of natural relationship to form. Not that he'd been super keen about trying to awkwardly pine after a man he barely knew. Maybe it was best he killed this one in the cradle and moved on.

He'd have to apologize, business casual style, for his behavior, though. He’d tell Han that he had no intention of badgering him like this, that this was a one time deal, and he didn't have to worry about it. Luke felt like a predator, like a no-good freak. He just wanted to get back to normality where he was as benign as they come.

He stuck the cold coffee in the microwave to heat it back up. Microwaved coffee was kinda gross, but he didn't feel like pouring a whole mug down the drain.

As the mug spun in the microwave, he decided he would call Leia back immediately out of obligation. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her because he felt like he'd made things weird, (and she’d low-key made things weird by calling back) so he was going into that conversation with no plan, which was probably a bad idea, but he felt he owed her for showing concern.

After that, he didn't have anything. He had a whole Sunday with nothing to do, which had been great until this whole mess. Now it was just a period of time he'd have to marinate in worry - without getting drunk.

\-----

-

\-----

Luke felt strange back in his casual work attire. He thought about maybe adding the tie to the mix, but he didn't want to give the impression that he was trying to impress anyone.

Instead he was pulling on his collar, which felt oddly rough against his neck, sitting at his desk and torturing himself instead of just getting this phone call over with and putting this whole mess behind him. It'd been an adventure and a half trying to get the receptionist to hand over Han’s extension. She’d wanted Luke to fill out information retrieval paperwork, to which Luke begged her to just let this slide this one time, that he promised he knew Han, he just didn't have his extension. The woman had mulled it over for a solid minute, keeping intimate eye contact with Luke as she studied his soul. Finally she said she'd do it if Luke would buy her lunch. He'd said he wasn't interested in a date and she said she wasn't either but she had expensive taste and Luke was gonna pay her back for this somehow. Luke had promised her lunch.

The floral post-it note that the receptionist had put Han’s extension on was stuck to his finger. Below the extension was the number to the woman's favorite Japanese delivery and her usual order. Luke had never heard of any of it, but it certainly did sound expensive.

Luke took a deep breath and started punching numbers.

“Hey, Luke, do you have a minute?” A voice came from behind Luke. Luke quickly reset the numbers he’d typed so far, wiping his hand across his face.

“Yeah,” Luke said as he turned around. Wedge stood in the entrance of his cubicle. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Uhm, well...” Wedge crossed his arms and looked at his feet. “Well, first, happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you, Wedge.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Wedge smiled. He shook his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you first, though I'm not sure how much it'll mean to you. I’m quitting.”

“Whoa, really?” Luke felt awkward sitting in his chair but felt it would be just as awkward to stand up. “How come?”

“I found another job. Better paying, closer to what I actually want to be doing, back home.”

“Back home? Wedge,” Luke paused, finding his words carefully, “Your home town is… not good, for you, I mean. You’ll be miserable. I just don't know if that's worth it.”

“I think it is,” Wedge said, coming into the cubicle a little more. “I can't stay here and I can't find another job in town. I have to go. I already accepted the job offer. I'm moving apartments in a few weeks. It's a done deal.”

“So… you're saying goodbye, then?”

“Luke,” Wedge closed his eyes, pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyelids. “This was a disaster, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke admitted.

“I'm grateful I got this job and that I got to be in the big city for as long as I did. But it's time for me to face the facts: guys like us don't get a happy ending. It’ll be much more satisfying to have a good job than to chase after some unattainable fantasy.”

Luke nodded, felt a familiar affection for the man standing in front of him. But Wedge was right, this was a disaster.

“Please, be careful.” Luke finally said, furrowing his brow. “I'm serious.”

“You know me,” Wedge said, grinning. “Always a little too careful.”

Luke knew he wouldn't have the courage to talk to Wedge after he left the cubicle, that this might be the last time he saw him. Luke got up from the chair and gathered Wedge into a hug, pressing his face into Wedge's shoulder. Wedge wrapped his arms around Luke, his hand automatically cradling the back of Luke’s head, his fingers absently running through his hair. It was brief contact.

Wedge pulled away, his hands on Luke’s shoulders, held him an arm’s length away.

“Call me if you need me,” Wedge said. “I'll still have my car phone.”

“Oh Lord,” Luke teased. “I’ll email you. If you ever just need to talk, feel free to email me, too.”

Wedge lingered for only a second longer before he turned and left Luke standing in his cubicle with the sticky note stuck to his finger and a sudden realization that he didn't know anything about this Han Solo guy. That Han Solo, from what Luke had already seen of him, was a dangerous person to be involved with because he didn't care who saw. Luke felt a strange resolution as he slowly sat back down at his desk and dialed the number.

“Yuh-ello?” Han’s voice came over the phone. Luke closed his eyes and focussed on what he wanted to say.

“Hi, this is Luke.” Luke didn't wait for Han to say anything. “I think I may have called you Friday night?”

“Yeah-”

“And I just wanted to clear the air- on that- issue. I mean, I don't know how to- apologize- for… that. Because I really don't usually call strangers at 3 in the morning. So, uhm, I'm sorry for disturbing you and I promise it won't happen again.”

There was a lengthy pause. Luke almost hung up.

“Or,” Han finally said, “the next time you disturb me drunk at 3 in the morning, it could be in person.”

Luke's face went hot. He looked over his shoulder, as if someone could've heard it.

“I don't think I understand-” Luke stuttered.

“Why don’t we start with dinner, hm?”

“Han, I shouldn't,” Luke said, feeling like a character from a TV drama.

“Is that a no?”

“This isn't how I thought this conversation was going to go.” Luke laughed, biting his thumb nail.

“Come on, it's not that big of a deal,” Han said, dismissively. “Just dinner.”

“When?” Luke found himself asking.

“Tonight at 7. Boudreaux's. I'm buying.” Han hung up. Luke put the phone back into its cradle, stunned.

The only thing he could think about was how he only had the one good outfit.

\--

“Where's your sister?” The store clerk asked as he rifled through some casual clothes. Luke had instructed him to find something kinda inexpensive. He’d given Luke an expressionless stare and started looking.

“What, I can't shop without my sister?”

“I didn't say that.” The store clerk held up a black v-neck. “This is probably within your budget.”

“It seems kinda plain.” 

“It doesn't have to be flashy to look good.” The store clerk offered him the shirt. “It’ll look good with those pants.”

“The pinstriped ones? I don't think so.”

“No, the ones you wore here last time.”

“How do you even remember what my pants looked like?”

“It's my job,” he said plainly, still holding out the soft v-neck. Luke took it and started walking to the dressing room. The store clerk followed.

“I could probably get a black T-shirt from anywhere,” Luke pointed out.

“Not at this quality, honey,” he replied, grinning. Luke went into the changing room. “What’s the occasion anyway?”

“Uh,” Luke cleared his throat, pushing his head through the collar of the shirt. “I have a whatchamacallit... a meeting with a colleague. He’s higher up in the corporate chain than me.” Pure business.

“So who’s gonna be there?”

Luke opened the door of the changing room, smoothing the fly-aways in his hair.

“Kinda nosy, don't you think?” Luke asked, standing in front of the mirror.

“So… just you and him, right?” The store clerk said, pursed his lips. “Get the shirt.”

Luke turned around and the clerk had left the room. He sighed, looking back at his reflection. He was going to get the shirt and he was going to convince himself that this wasn't a date, for the sake of his nerves. Black was his color.

He checked his watch and it was already 5:45.

\--

Boudreaux's wasn't very busy on a Monday evening. It was mostly older couples or dedicated regulars.

Boudreaux's was a Cajun-style restaurant with a New Orleans theme stationed in the same brick complex as various other themed restaurants. It was in no way fancy, or particularly expensive.

Luke got there ten minutes late. He'd underestimated his ability to stand at the mirror and agonize over his hair. He had avoided looking at the clock, because every time he did, he’d think about having to actually go to this thing he agreed to and it threw him into some existential crisis. So time got away from him.

Luckily, Han hadn't gotten a table yet when Luke got there. The entrance to Boudreaux's was the color of oxidized nickel, the paint flaking off the old door frame. There were three upholstered chairs the colors of Mardi Gras, cheap beads hanging off the wooden back. Han was sitting on one of these chairs, leg bouncing with his hands on his knees. He didn't immediately notice Luke. His head was turned towards the tables in view.

“Hello,” Luke said. Han saw him and stood up. Luke offered him a hand to shake. Han quirked an eyebrow, taking the hand and shaking it firmly. “Sorry, I'm late.”

“Yeah, well, better late than never,” Han said, tucking the hand he shook with into his pocket. He was wearing dark, fitted jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Luke tried not to notice his strong hands or his hairy chiseled forearms or the hint of chest hair at the collar of his shirt or the loose brown locks which framed his face.

“Do we have a table?” Luke asked, distracted.

“Yeah, I was just waiting for you,” Han replied, his hand delving deeper into his pocket as he looked down at Luke.

Luke had a very bad feeling about this.

\--

Luke had his hands tucked under the table. He’d studied all the faces in the crowd twice. He didn't feel like there was anyone taking any particular interest in them, but he was weary either way.

“The real problem hadn't technically been with the client. I mean, don't get me wrong, their guy was a jackass and it was their fault, but it was the graphic designers they’d hired who’d screwed them over. They'd basically taken some other company’s logo and tried to sell it as theirs. I mean, they're lucky it was caught before it was implemented it in any real way. Can you imagine the legal issues?” Han said.

“Mhm,” Luke hummed, nodding.

“So I tell the guy that this was still an issue on their end, that it wasn't our fault we couldn't use the clearly copied logo they'd been stupid enough to pay for.” Han paused, fingered his glass of water. “This is very boring to talk about. Probably just as hard to listen to.”

“Mhm,” Luke hummed again, smiling weakly.

“Hey, are you okay?” Han asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, just… tired,” Luke said. Han was still looking at him like he wanted an answer. Luke shifted in his seat. “What?”

“You know, you're not obligated to stay if you don't want to.” Han said, somewhat matter-of-factly. Luke locked eyes with him.

“I don't know what we’re doing here, exactly.” Luke said, fingers loosely gripping the edge of the table.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… is this a date?”

Han blinked, licked his lips.

“I mean, I've just never, uh,” Luke continued, fidgeted, looked down at his nearly untouched shrimp scampi. “I was hoping this wouldn't feel like a date.”

“Does it?”

“I don't know,” Luke said. “Not really.”

“So, what would make this feel like a date?” Han asked, trying to get the waiter's attention with a hand signal. Luke pursed his lips, fighting a grin that threatened to give away his immediate thought. He knew what he’d’ve suggested if they were at the old clubs. He wasn't sure what Han had in mind, though.

“Can we just go somewhere a little more private?” Luke asked.

“I’d thought you'd want to avoid that,” Han said, before asking the waiter for the bill and two to-go boxes. The waiter acknowledged.

“Why?” Luke asked. Han grinned at that, like it was some inside joke.

“Excuse me, but I got the feeling you were reluctant to come here at all.’

“I was. I… am,” Luke said, and felt guilty about the obviously mixed signals he was giving. “Listen, Han, I'm just not sure this is worth the risk, is all.”

“What? Dinner?” Han asked.

“Okay, you can stop being coy now. Let's just get out of here.” Luke started scooping noodles into the offered to-go box. Han did the same with his half-eaten Po Boy as the waiter brought back his credit card and thanked them for coming.

“The wait staff here is efficient as hell. I should've tipped higher.”

“How much did you tip?” Luke closed his to-go box with a 'thwip.’

“I don't know. A few dollars.” Han said. Luke sighed, pulling out his wallet and taking out a few more dollars.

“Always overtip,” Luke chastised, tucking the money under the napkin dispenser. Han rolled his eyes, got up from his chair, and walked towards the exit.

\---

Luke had followed Han’s car into a residential area on the other side of town. The drive over had involved a lot of trying to figure out what exactly he thought he was doing. It had also involved a lot of avoiding his own eyes in his rearview mirror as well as Han’s in his.

Han’s house was a two-story residence. As Luke walked in, he was surprised by the immediate minimalist, unlived-in feeling of the house. He’d imagined Han living in an apartment similar to his for some reason, maybe even dirtier.

Luke was dubiously looking at some “abstract” art hanging above the doorway while Han put their leftovers in the fridge.

“Yeah, I know,” Han said from across the dining room area. “Come with me.”

Han lead them upstairs and, for a brief moment, Luke thought Han was leading him to his bedroom. Instead, Han opened the door to what appeared to be a studio of sorts, though it seemed to be functioning more as a storage/lounge area. Weird trunks and various bags cluttered the room in neat piles, creating a pathway that circled the room and lead straight to a couch and a chair. In the farthest corner, a painter’s easel without a canvas sat next to a paint flecked dresser drawers. Next to that was a clothing rack hung with old clothes, which were indistinguishable because of how tightly the clothes were packed onto the thing.

“So, this is where you live?” Luke asked dumbly.

“This is where I live,” Han affirmed. “I don’t usually touch the rest of the house. It’s really only there for show.”

“Doesn’t it feel a little bit, I don’t know, claustrophobic?” Luke asked, walking down the pathway, glancing idly at the things he passed. Luke tried not to look around too much. He felt like he was invading Han’s space. He did take notice of the ornate wooden box he thought was probably a chess set. Han followed behind Luke, his hands in his pockets.

“I like my nest,” Han said, looking around like he was trying to see what Luke was seeing.

The couch was made of plainly well-utilized leather, an uneven discolored mess, but comfortable. The chair was an upholstered lazy boy reclining chair with cut marks on the bottom like it’d been attacked with scissors. Luke sat on the couch, trying to relax, but that was impossible. Next to the arm of the couch was an end table with a low-light lamp and a picture frame. Luke picked that up as Han sat down on the other side of the couch.

The picture was surprising. From afar, it looked like a family photo, but, up-close, it was unmistakably a snapshot of a group of drag queens and kings at a bar. Luke furrowed his brow, studying the faces. The one on the end was Han Solo. The person next to Han was a striking black drag queen, her arm wrapped around Han’s waist. Luke was pleased.

“Oh, uh,” Han stammered, scooting closer and reaching for the photo. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no,” Luke said, pulling the frame away. “What bar is this? I know you couldn’t have gone to any of the ones in town, I would’ve noticed you.”

“This wasn’t taken in town,” Han said, inspecting Luke closely. Luke met his eyes, didn’t like the surprised look Han had.

“Let me ask you this,” Luke said, putting the photo back on the table and crossing his legs. “How did you know I was a confirmed bachelor?”

“I didn’t know.” Han admitted.

“You didn’t know… but you went for it anyway?” Luke asked.

“I knew who you were. I mean, I knew you from Leia,” Han said, “I may have assumed a tad on the sexuality.”

Luke felt a chill.

“Do I give off that vibe?” Luke asked.

“The gay vibe?”

“Han, I’m being serious.”

“I wasn’t joking. So, what, you don’t want people to assume?” Han looked concerned, his brows pinching.

“You do?” Luke asked, afraid of the answer. Han looked uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t say that, particularly.” Han pursed his lips.

Luke sighed, ran a hand over his face. He felt that cold pit growing, the anxiety that he was getting into something he couldn’t control. He looked over at Han, unsure. Han was looking past him, presumably at the framed photo behind him.  


“To be honest,” Luke started, eyes down, “This has kind of been a…” Disaster. Luke wanted to talk to Wedge about this, knew it would only make things worse. Han had been this little slice of hope for Luke, this subconscious promise that there was still risk-taking in his thirties, that his life wasn’t going to slip away while he chewed on his nails and waited for something to happen to him. Luke looked at Han now, a stranger with a drag queen past, something familiar. As long as he had nothing to lose... “What’s the nature of your relationship with my sister?”

“Platonic,” Han promised, “It was always platonic.”

Luke hesitated.

“Where are they now?” Luke asked, “The people in the picture, I mean.”

“Dead, mostly,” Han murmured, then tilted his head. “These would be the topics of conversation I’d have on a first date.”

Luke unexpectedly laughed, covering his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shuddered. Han looked alarmed for a second, his hand reflexively reaching forward before he pulled it back.

“Are we ever allowed a normal first date?” Luke offered, pressing his hand against his own cheek.

“No,” Han replied, lightly smirking. “Never.”

\---

“So what did you do?” Luke asked, spinning his fork in the shrimp scampi. They were seated on bar stools at Han’s kitchen island, their cold left-overs in front of them.

“I didn’t even know what to do. I mean, we had to wait because the crossing light hadn’t changed, but this guy wouldn’t leave her alone. He actually did the thing where he checked his wrist for the time and there wasn’t even a watch. He didn’t even acknowledge there wasn’t a watch. And she was so obviously not interested.”

“Obviously,” Luke echoed in agreement.

“But then my friend, Lando, he comes up behind her and like kinda put his arm around her waist, right? Which is hilarious because this is the gayest guy you could ever meet and I’m not exaggerating. The rest of the group was thankfully not drunk enough to immediately laugh and ruin his cover, there were shared looks. And the other guy looked so mad, honestly. I don’t even know what a guy like that was doing in gay bar central on a Saturday night, he must’ve been so lost.”

“This could’ve ended really badly,” Luke pointed out, taking a bite of noodles.

“You know, when you’re 22, you don’t think about that,” Han responded with a shrug. “Anyway, she pretends like Lando’s some overly protective, slightly abusive boyfriend, and the guy looks completely defeated. You could see it in his eyes that he felt one of the good ones had been lost to the forces of evil, like he was watching this gentle lady being taken advantage of by some asshole, and there was nothing he could do about it. It must’ve been really dramatic for him. But she was relieved.”

“I can imagine,” Luke said, theatrically rolling his eyes. “That’s not just a straight problem either.”

“Oh? Do you have a story?” Han asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, except I didn’t have anyone to bail me out. Probably one of the most awkward dances I ever had to agree to.”

“Yes, go on,” Han said.

“I’m not really that great at telling stories,” Luke warned, but told one anyway. “I was talking to the bartender,-  who was a good guy, I talked to him a lot - and this guy ‘accidentally’ bumped into me while I was sitting and then leaned over my shoulder and tried to talk to me. I don’t even remember what we talked about, I just remember at one point I laughed at something that he said that he didn’t think was funny and he tried to lecture me on it.”

“That’s pretty bad,” Han said.

“It gets worse,” Luke promised. “He asks me to dance, and I, without thinking, agree to it.”

“Why?”

“To this day, I couldn’t tell you. I think that I found the whole situation too funny because of how drunk I was to let it pass by. Anyway, he leads me onto the dancefloor and I think he was trying to be smooth and seductive, but it came off as just really… bad. Like I wasn’t really dancing and he was just kind of moving around me and trying to weirdly touch me and all that, but he didn’t really have the nerve to be… actually sexual, I think.”

“This also could’ve ended a lot worst,” Han said. Luke mimicked Han’s shrug.

“He tried to get my number, but I gave him a fake one and told him I had to leave because I had work in the morning.” Luke tapped his fingers against the faux marble.

“And?”

“So... that was the end of the story,” Luke laughed, leaning on the countertop. “I guess it wasn’t that exciting.”

“So you didn’t see him again?” Han asked.

“Well, no,” Luke said, furrowing his brow. “I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it, I didn’t see him at any of the bars after that. I wonder if he was from out of town.”

“Interesting. Do you remember his name?” Han asked.

“No, not really,” Luke said. “It was a really common name, I think. Eli? Alex?”

“It’s funny the number of people you meet,” Han remarked. “How many of them just come and go.”

“It cycled, that’s for sure,” Luke said, biting his lip. “It was kind of a downer. Having all new faces around the joint and not knowing any of them.”

Han and Luke were both leaning on the counter, the space between them having slowly narrowed. Luke looked down at the nearly finished shrimp scampi, at the empty to-go box in front of Han, at Han’s hands relaxed on the counter, under the yellow light of the hanging light fixture. The rest of the house was massive and dark, but Luke suddenly felt a weird kind of sanctuary. Luke wet his lips.

“What brought you to town anyway?” Luke asked, looking down at his hands on the counter.

“Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t work related?”

“Depends. What was it?” Luke looked up. Han shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” He said resolutely. “I came to town to get away from it.”

“I’m glad you came here.”

Han leaned in, pausing the same difference he had Friday night. Luke lowered his eyes, sliding his hand over Han’s, breathing steadily through parted lips. Han waited, eyes scanning, tilting his head.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Luke breathed.

“Just enjoying the view,” Han said, smiled.

Luke pressed impatient lips to Han’s, thrilling at his surprised jump. It wasn’t a long kiss, barely a kiss. Luke pulled away, his hand gripping Han’s. Han leaned in again, taking Luke’s lower lips between his. Han’s hand caressed Luke’s jawline as he leaned forward and off his bar stool. Luke on the bar stool was as tall as Han standing on the floor, their faces level. Luke rested his elbows on Han’s shoulders, tilting his head and pressing hard to try and alleviate the ache in his mouth. Han’s tongue swiped against Luke’s lip, and Luke sighed, folding his hands behind Han’s head. Luke was slowly inching off the bar stool, flattening against Han. Han’s hands were snaking their way under Luke’s shirt.

Luke pressed a hand to his chest, gently pushing him away.

“Don’t ruin it,” Luke said, breathless, pressing his forehead to Han’s. Han sighed, eyes closed, grinning. “I still have work tomorrow.”

“Oh shit, what time is it?” Han asked, his forehead still touching Luke’s. Luke looked down at his watch.

“One in the morning,” Luke said guiltily. Han laughed.

“You should probably get home,” Han said, taking Luke’s hand and pressing a kiss to Luke’s knuckle.

“Mhm,” Luke hummed.

“Unless… if you want to stay…” Han offered, “You can stay in the guest room.”

Luke leaned back, considered the offer seriously. He didn’t particularly feel like driving home. However, he imagined he wouldn’t get any sleep if he knew Han was only a few yards away. Even if Han didn’t try anything, and Luke felt comfortable that he wouldn’t, Luke would be tempted to, and he sort of liked the pace they were at as it were.

“No, I don’t think so,” Luke said regretfully. “Not tonight.”

Han nodded. Luke got up from his seat, stretched his legs, which he hadn’t used in a few hours.

“Do you want to do something this Friday?” Han asked. Luke leaned his back against the counter across from the island, facing Han.

“Do something?” Luke teased.

“I mean actually do something,” Han said. “Something that’s not eating left-overs in my kitchen.”

“Do you have anything specific in mind or am I supposed to just trust you?”

“I don’t know. Do you trust me?”

“What an awful question to ask,” Luke said. Luke reached forward and grabbed Han’s shirt, guiding him forward. Han unhesitatingly cradled Luke’s face with gossamer hands, kissing him with urgency, an unhesitant continuation of where they’d just left off. Luke was pressed against the counter, Han’s taller stature curving over him. Luke pushed him away with his fingertips, their lips parting with a click. Luke kept his hand between them. “That was the cliche goodnight kiss, by the way.”

Han fell back onto the edge of the island, crossing his arms and sucking his lips between his teeth. Han looked disheveled already, if not superficially miffed, and Luke hadn’t even done anything. Luke liked it.

“You have my number?” Luke asked.

“Well, you clearly have mine,” Han said. Luke went flush. He’d completely forgotten.

“Oh. No, I actually don’t. It’s, uh- that’s a long, and tragic, story.” Luke regretted any moment he felt in any way smooth during the entire night. He wasn’t. He wasn’t smooth. Han bent forward, reached around Luke to get a note pad and pen.

“I’d love to hear about it sometime,” Han joked, writing down his number. “I saved the message on my answering machine, in case you were wondering.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Luke said, mortified. Han grinned, ripped out the paper with his number and gave it to Luke.

“Nope. And, yes, I have your number,” Han said. “I have, you know, ‘caller ID.'"

“I should probably think about upgrading my setup,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Might save me some trouble in the future.”

“Definitely,” Han said.

\--

Luke walked back into his apartment, stripped down to his boxers, flicked off the lights, and fell into his bed. It was 1:40 a.m. He had to get up in 6ish hours, and that was if he was able to fall asleep at that very moment. He needed to go brush his teeth, wash his face. He skipped it. He made a tired mental note to remember that Han’s number was still in the pocket of his pants.

His own breathing echoed back to him in the silence. He imagined Han in his house, in a bedroom Luke hadn’t seen yet. Han in his privacy. Han in his silence. He lifted a hand to his lips, running his index finger over his bottom lip. He closed his eyes.

\--

“I heard they were thinking of downsizing,” Georgina said, sitting at the break table. Old Ben frowned at his tuna sandwich, shaking his head.

“Downsizing? We’re running bare thin as it is,” Was apparently Ben’s opinion. Luke was waiting patiently for the coffee maker to spill its motor oil coffee into the permanently stained coffee pot. He was facing away from them, not wanting to hear it. It’d been buzzing that the company had gotten into some trouble with investors, who were pushing for “restructuring.” Whatever “restructuring” meant, no one liked the sound of it. When it came to their jobs, any of the jobs in Luke’s particular branch, any changes weren’t welcome. They were trending to be outsourced, by the looks of the “restructuring” in other similar companies.

“I wouldn’t mind a little cleaning up around here,” Georgina said, sitting up straight in her chair.

“Oh, how childish,” Ben remarked. Georgina lost her color. “We’re talking about these people’s livings. Honestly, not everyone has the same privileges as you.”

“You can’t think that way, Ben,” Georgina said, her face pinched. “You’ll be the one who has to let them go if we do downsize.”

“Mr. Kenobi,” Ben corrected, holding his tuna sandwich. “And I’ll cross that bridge when I’m damn forced.”

Georgina got up from the table in a huff, tried to walk out of the break room with some dignity. Ben was shaking his head. The fluorescents flicked above them.

“What’s her job anyway?” Luke asked, having poured his cup and turned to lean against the counter. Ben’s back was to him.

“Hers? God knows. I didn’t hire her.” Ben said.

“Funny she should talk then,” Luke murmured. Ben chewed thoughtfully.

“Luke, I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been getting the emails from up top,” He said quietly. “We might just merge with an already existing branch.”

“How many would have to be let go?” Luke took Georgina’s spot at the table.

“The numbers are still up in the air… or, rather, they’re still in accountings.” Ben said, sticking the rest of his tuna sandwich in his mouth and brushing the crumbs off his hands. “But you know what they say, ‘Last to come, first to go.’ You’ve been here a while and so have I. They wouldn’t ignore hard work.”

“I don’t know if I’d bet on that though,” Luke said, taking another drink of coffee.

“What option do we have?”

\--

Leia called Luke before Luke could get up the courage to do it. He knew he was purposefully avoiding her, that she had a right to be concerned, and, to be frank, he was thankful that she’d waited as long as she had to contact him. Thankful in a guilty way, that is. As far as Luke knew, Leia didn’t know his beef, wouldn’t understand what was going on, and Luke had never been very good at lying to her, which was part of the reason why he’d purposely lost touch with her through most of his twenties. And adolescence. He hadn’t been in real consistent contact with his sister through the majority of his life, actually. Not that he had anything against Leia, just that it seemed like she was always able to root out his problems. Too long around Leia and she’d force you into change. Luke wasn’t really into that.

Luke had to promise at the beginning of the conversation that he wouldn’t discuss any of what she said with anyone else under the penalty of law. Luke had given verbal consent.

“There’s a huge problem with dad’s company and it’s stressing me out.” Leia said, obviously using some ridiculous cell phone. Luke could hear the cars driving by over the constant static.

“A huge problem? I’ve been hearing it’s more like a moderate problem.”

“I think I can fix it, but everyone else is just- You’d think grown-ass men could-” Leia was cutting out.

There was a long pause.

“Sorry. My signal isn’t very good.” She said, sighing.

“Why did you call me while you were walking?” Luke asked.

“I had to leave the office,” Leia said. “And talk to someone I don’t work with. Luke, I… I know all of this is hard for you and I don’t know what kind of support system you want, but you can’t get it from me. I’m not like that.” Leia cleared her throat. “But, uhm, it’s been hard, for me. And I need someone to talk to, so forgive me.”

“Hey, no, I- Leia, I’m sorry you’ve gotten the responsible end of the stick like you always do.”

“Yeah,” Leia said. She cleared her throat. “If we don’t boost production soon, things are going to get very hairy.”

“Production of… what?” Luke asked.

“Diamond Printers Co. seems to be the most likely candidate for bolstering, but it’s still a pretty young company, you know. Republic Life Insurance is the most consistent, but that would take an extensive ad campaign and rebranding and that would just be a lot of time and money that we clearly don’t have.”

“Wait, what?”

“I know that’s not what you want to hear. It would probably be a huge leg up for you if we set our eyes on Philip & Margot, but…” Leia hesitated.

“I thought Philip & Margot was the main company?” Luke said.

“What?”

“I thought Philip & Margot was the big company. Like the main line.”

“...Are you telling me you don’t know what Presentiment Incorporated does?” Leia asked slowly.

“Uhm.” Luke wasn’t familiar with ‘Presentiment Incorporated.’

“Luke, are you serious? What do you even do in your department?”

“I- request office supplies- for the office.” Luke said, leaning into his desk and covering his eyes with his hand.

“So… you’re a glorified intern?”

“Yeah.” Luke said. There was an awkward pause.

“What does your department do?” Leia asked.

“I think we’re a branch of human resources,” Luke said, pulling up his emails on his computer. “We deal with internal problems.”

“Who deals with internal problems, in your department, specifically? Do you know?”

“This sounds a little too much like a witch-hunt to me.” Luke said, defensively.

“I’m just asking. Who’s your boss?” Leia sounded ultra casual. Luke was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“Ben Kenobi. You know. Old family friend.” Luke said, holding the phone closer and lowering his voice.

“Ben? Maybe you should talk to Ben about this. Do a little ground work.”

“I’m not going to spy on my co-workers for you, Leia.” Luke opened an email. [Can we move our date to Saturday?] It said.

“I’m not asking you to spy, I’m asking you to talk to your boss and then tell me about it.” Leia said. Over the phone, Luke could hear the hydraulics of bus brakes.

“That’s called spying, Leia. Are you getting on a bus?” Luke asked, typing out a response to the email. [Any specific reason why?] He coolly moved Han’s email to trash.

“Yeah.” Leia said with no explanation. Luke didn’t care to ask if she wasn’t willing to tell. A response popped up on his screen. [I have a good idea for our date.] Luke trashed that email, too.

“I didn’t know you ever took the bus,” Luke said, conversationally. [I thought you had a good idea for Friday.] He sent back to Han.

“I do occasionally. I’ve… been walking for a while,” she admitted.

“What does that mean?” Luke asked.

“It means it’s easier to take a bus back into the city than to walk it,” Leia said. “I think I should get off the phone. I don’t really want anyone on the bus being privy to our conversation.”

“I gotcha.” Luke said. Email from Han: [I have a better idea for Saturday. So, are you free?]

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

“Yeah. See ya.” Leia hung up.

[I’m free. What are we planning on doing?] Luke wrote.

[I was hoping you’d let me keep that a surprise :-/] Han responded.

[Okay, but is it going to be an all-day thing?]

[Maybe........]

[What’s the attire?]

[Casual.]

[Walking shoes?]

[Sure.]

[I feel like I ask a lot of questions whenever I’m talking to you. Like too many.] Luke typed. There was a longer pause before the response came.

[How’s your day been?] was Han’s reply to that.

[It’s been fine.] Luke replied.

[Now I know you’re lying to me, because the entire company’s been throwing a bitch fit all day. Not pretty.]

[If you knew how my day had been, why’d you ask?]

[Stop asking questions. I’ll be asking the questions from now on.] Han wrote.

[Okay.]

[How’s your day been?] Han asked again.

[Terrible. Everyone seems to think the end of the world is nigh.]

[And you don’t? I mean, the company could potentially “restructure.”]

[I guess I’m just an optimist.] Luke sent then quickly added: [And I’m not sure what I’m hoping for.]

[What do you mean?] Han asked.

[I mean, I’m not sure I’d be exactly opposed to the idea of maybe restructuring.]

[You don’t exactly have job security, kid.] Han sent. Luke went to reply and his fingers hovered over the keys. He couldn’t quite word why he couldn’t care less if the entire corporation burned to the fucking ground and he ended up starving on the streets. Maybe it was because he wasn’t currently homeless and starving, so he couldn’t quite comprehend how shitty that would be; maybe because he figured that’s where he belonged anyway. Existing in back alleys, lurking in parking lots. He cringed at the romanticism. Han sent another email after Luke didn’t respond fast enough. [Not saying anything about the actual prospects of your job. Just commenting on the reality of the situation. Anyway, it wasn’t a question, so ignore it.]

[That wasn’t a question either.] Luke mailed back, relieved he was given the go-ahead to disregard that train of thought.

[Do you wanna nonchalantly meet-up at a cafe not too far from here after work?] Han sent then added: [It wouldn’t count as our second date.]

[I’ll think about it.]

[It’s open mic, in case you’re a poet… Are you a poet?] Han typed.

[I am not a poet.] Luke promised.

[Does “I’ll think about it” mean yes?] Han asked. Luke pursed his lips.

[It depends on whether or not this place is your usual stomping grounds.] Luke sent.

[If I said it was _old_ stomping grounds, would that make or break the date?] Han sent back. Luke felt a rare nervousness that wasn’t anxiety. Just nervousness.

[It depends on whether or not people will know we went there.]

[Not if you don’t want them to.]

[Are your friends going to be there?] Luke asked. There was a longer period of time before a response than usual.

[I wasn’t going to answer that because it was a question, but then I realized you’d been playing me like a fiddle and making me answer questions posed as statements anyway. You sly bastard.] Luke had actually done that on purpose and he was pleased with himself. [And no. I generally go to this place alone.]

[So, if I don’t go, you’ll go anyway?]

[Yes. I’m just asking if you wanna come along.]

[Why?]

[You were only granted one… two free questions. I’m not answering that.] Han sent then added. [The address is 107 South 6th Street. Come if you want to.]

Luke sat back in his chair, his cursor hovering over the trash button of the email. He’d never been a big fan of poetry in general, especially the kind of poetry that was usually read at these kinds of places. He also hadn’t thought Han was the type to enjoy something like that. He supposed he could’ve guessed at it when he saw the bleeding heart collection of junk in Han’s house, the paints and the canvases. If Luke went to this cafe, he’d be doing it solely for Han. He bit his lip, his skin remembering the contact in Han’s kitchen. Luke had open the floodgates. He didn’t trust Han’s intentions; he didn’t trust his reasoning; he didn’t trust Han’s sudden infatuation with him, almost as much as he didn’t trust his own infatuation with Han.

Luke wrote down the address, and moved the last of the emails to trash, went into the trash folder, and deleted them completely.

\-----

5 o’clock rolled around and Luke was leaving through a different door than he usually did. He walked down a corridor lined with nice-ish offices to get to the elevator down to the main reception area. The steel doors of the elevator reflected the hallway behind him in distorted relief. Luke pressed the down button. One of the office doors behind him opened, Wedge came out with a medium cardboard box stacked with papers and knick knacks. He stood beside Luke, but didn’t look at him. Luke did similarly. The air conditioning hummed overhead, the only sound filling the cramped space. Wedge adjusted his grip on the box.

When the elevator arrived, they shuffled in and stood at opposite corners, avoiding eye contact. Wedge pushed the button for the lobby. Luke felt it was too much like when he would say goodbye to people at parties and then they’d accidentally be going the same way. Wedge seemed to feel the same because he was staring at the upper corner of the lift, fingers tapping gently on the side of the box. The midi music wasn’t playing.

The elevator door opened and Wedge walked out first, head ducked as he nuddled along. Luke sighed. He got off the lift too, but waited, pretending to be studying his watch with concerning interest. His forehead connected with his wrist as he cursed himself for being so awkward. And it was about to get worse.

Luke crossed the lobby and went out the door. He stood on the threshold, and looked across the street to the squat building across the way. The door was held open with a brick and a girl in a cardigan sat at the desk inside, reading a book, with her head on her hand. The display windows had pictures of different photoshoots the business had down. Luke wondered what it was like to pay someone to take your picture for hundreds of dollars and feel good about it. 107 South 6th Street could be reached on foot. Luke turned left and started hoofing it.

The days were getting shorter. The sky was already turning orange, painting Frederick Avenue in hazy colors. Luke got to the street corner and pressed the button for the crosswalk. Cars ground by, churning the crumbling remains of the road.

The light for the crosswalk changed and Luke crossed the street.

**Author's Note:**

> If I start updating it, it'll be in chapters. I posted this all at once because I had it done.


End file.
